Once Upon A Kingdom
by MissCrayons
Summary: If you look close enough - even the British Monarchy has slayer blood running through it. There's a war, there's a plague and then there's the things that only come out at night........
1. Prologue More Than Meets The Eye

A/N Okay, another of my first forays. Be gentle. I've never written into BTVS fanfiction before so be gentle of my little debut, yeah?! This may or may not continue, i'm not sure yet. Depends on either response (if it's good i'll have to keep writing, yes?) or my motivation. Which is severly lacking.

So i ask you to read this as a one-shot and if you really want a continuation, ask for it ok?

Feedback would warm me from head to toe!

Enjoy!

- Akasha

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Sighing heavily Trista Avena Devereux stretched against the old oak tree. She feared that if it were not there to prop up her aching limbs then she would simply topple back onto the grass.  
  
Last night had been a long night.  
  
Marie-Claire, her reluctant tutor, had insisted upon perfecting Trista's French before the return of her husband next month. She had sat there until the smoke from the fire had stung her eyes so badly she merely could not see for tears.  
  
Now in the summer breeze Trista sat contentedly within the walls of Ludlow Castle, the place she had called home for the past fifteen years of her life.  
  
There was more to Trista Avena Devereux than met the eye. A daughter of King Henry IV. One in five, she also had two brothers whom she had never met. It wouldn't do for a princess to be going so far into the country while a war was going on merely to see her siblings.  
  
Therefore, she had been shipped out here with her ladies in waiting and several servants at the tender age of two. Ludlow had become her home, a gracious gift of Sir Roger Mortimer who had moved his wife and children further north to stay with his brother while he went out to fight.  
  
At the age of fifteen, she had been offered to French General D'mitri Cái Devereux. He was a twenty-seven year old man who was in great favour with the French Royal family. Unfortunately, she had barely seen him more than ten times since their wedding two and a half years ago. He was off fighting in wars and such.  
  
Until she bore him children, he had very little interest in the young princess.  
  
She dare not bring up the flaw in his logic that states she cannot possibly bare his children if he is not around to create them in the first place.  
  
Shifting her position against the tree once more Trista allowed herself the luxury of feeling her soft hair fall against her pale shoulders. For her age, she had abnormally blonde hair, many a man had commented upon this. Her blue eyes, which rarely showed more expression than absolute boredom, could so easily turn to grey when angered.  
  
It was nice to not have the wimple(1) on, luckily Marie-Claire was busy preparing the maids for the butlers monthly inspection and therefore had no time to reprimand the princess for her informal and probably inappropriate attire.  
  
Shifting once more, (Marie-Claire would have slapped her for being so restless) Trista felt hard wood press against her thy. However, it was not the wood of a tree as one would expect, but the wood of a sharpened wooden stake secured to her leg by a strap of worn leather beneath her skirts.  
  
Simply because there was more to Trista Avena Devereux than met the eye.

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(1)The wimple and peplum head-dress were worn in the early part of this period. The wimple was a square of white cloth which was brought beneath the chin and the two ends of the cloth were then brought upwards to the top of the head, where they were fastened by a brooch or pin. Over this was worn the peplum, which was simply a veil placed on top of the head to fall symmetrically to both sides and behind. 


	2. Chapter I Do You Know Everything Or Not...

**A/N**

Okay, I got two very helpful reviews. I'm really pleased, I figured I was going to get none :'(. **ShawThang** – don't worry I plan to have some Buffy connections later on, I'll also do my best to ease up on the narrative. I just wanted to get most of the stuff out there in the prologue!

**Finn Mac Cool** – thanks. You seemed to have a few complaints which I'd like to explain. First of all the line "she merely could not see her tears" if you read it is actually "she merely could not see for tears" and that's what I meant. So no I don't rely on spell check – although if I did have it for my English a level next year I'm sure it would save my arse! Regarding Marie-Claire, that's her name, in those day's ( and even now) many French people had a double name like that and to just use one would be disrespectful. Sorry. {Hugs you tightly} - thanks, i love critisism. How are we expected to learn if our mistakes are not pointed out.  
  
Another thing for all of you, Marie-Claire is probably pronounced differently than your saying it, it's French a pronounces "mar-eeclur" (the 'a' is pronounced as in apple)  
  
Now on with the story! Please review!!!!!! chants 'I will not beg'

Apologises for grammar/spellings errors, i'm lacking in a beta reader and this is my third update of the day - so proof-reading is a hurried affair.

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"It is simply too warm" Trista sighed, throwing the thick sheets off her bed and to her maid.  
  
"Surely you cannot mean to sleep naked, miss?" the maid asked, looking at her mistress who was not in fact naked, but wearing nothing more than a thin undershirt,  
  
"If I mean to or nay, it is my choice." Trista spoke finally and the maid scurried away, wondering how long before Marie-Claire came up to her quarters to chastise her for taking out her frustrations on the workers. Walking to the thin window in the corner of her room Trista felt the cool breeze kiss her bare skin and she sighed contentedly.  
  
Watching across the courtyard Trista's eyes fell upon something that moved, watching carefully she wondered if it were just one of her ladies-in- waiting out for a midnight stroll. Closing her eyes she stretched her mind towards the silhouette but could sense nothing.  
  
Sighing deeply Trista moved away from the window and walked to her draws, pulling the middle one open she lifted out a brown houppelande with bagged sleeves. She lifted it out and layed it flat on the bed. Kneeling on the floor in front of her dresser she pulled out a cross and fastened it around her neck, she then pulled out a dagger and fastened it to her ankle with another bit of leather. Her stake was of course still fastened to her thy, she rarely removed it.  
  
Standing fully her eyes snapped to the door as it opened, Marie-Claire looked from Trista to the dress and shook her head,  
  
"Ma'am Trista, tell me you do not mean to go out?"  
  
"I cannot" Trista looked down, biting back the remark she was going to produce about Trista slapping her for such a blatant lie. Rolling her eyes Trista stepped out of the door, snapped her fingers and then walked in with three of Trista's ladies-in-waiting who rushed to her side and started dressing her.  
  
Not taking her eyes off Marie-Claire, Trista placed her hands out so that her body was in the shape of a cross, the girls dressed her with a practiced ease.  
  
"In that event, I shall accompany you," Marie-Claire announced, Trista shook her head,  
  
"Marie-Claire, while your company is always a pleasure, I cannot be responsible for keeping you awake when you must rise so early" Trista warned, the small order in her voice causing the older woman to bow her head.  
  
"Of course ma'am" Marie-Claire nodded, turning on her heal. 'Oh dear', Trista thought 'I'm going to be in trouble tomorrow'. "Remember however Miss, Master Cái Devereux is expected tomorrow eve' it would do for you to be fully awakened by such a time." Then she was gone.  
  
If she was in less of a hurry to get outside, she would have raised a comment about the direct insult. Really, nobody could call a slayer lazy. Sighing she ushered away her ladies-in-waiting and walked out of the room. She shut the heavy doors behind her and sucked in a heavy breath.  
  
It would not do to dwell on the fact that one night, when she left she would not be returning in the morning.  
  
Trudging down the stone steps she felt the biting cold of the stone sting her feet. No matter what the weather the stone staircase never warmed.  
  
As she walked through the large entry hall, she stepped into some thin sandals by the door, she then walked to the very furthest corner of the hall and pulled open the guarded oak door that lead to the back courtyard.  
  
The night breeze escaped her here, as the large castle walls refused to let it through. At least out here the ground was warm. She noted that she should get some new sandals seeing as her current ones were nearly worn through.  
  
She walked through the arch that led to the grassy banks surrounding the central chapel. Scanning the distance, she sensed nothing.  
  
Her first watcher, Bart Meninghow had told her that sensing vampires was a skill very few slayers actually honed. She had felt a brief swell of pride having fully mastered it before she even knew what it was.  
  
She could sense a vampire from a mile off. Not only was their smell distinctly different from normal people, but whenever one was near she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and a small part of her brain sounded like an alarm throughout her body and all her senses heightened.  
  
Bart had been their butler for three years, but he had gone on an errand to East London Port and had contracted the plague that so many referred to as the new death.  
  
She had been forbidden to see him, to even say goodbye and so hadn't seen her watcher in nearly a year.  
  
Trista was sure that if he saw her now he would be proud. Her fighting skills were flawless and she had practiced the new-age Chinese meditation techniques he had taught her to the point where she could bloke out everything in her mind except her opponent.  
  
In the two and a half years, she had been the slayer Trista had learned much.  
  
Nevertheless, she was never so blind as to assume she could not improve.  
  
Marie-Claire had taught her that lesson when she was but eleven years old.  
  
"I refuse to teach those who will not be taught, tell mew no child do you know everything or do you know nothing?"  
  
Trista had come to learn that she indeed, knew nothing. At least now, she could cling to the knowledge that she indeed new more of the world's dark truths than her tutor did.  
  
Bart had told her of slayers before her, how when one died another was called. She often spent nights wondering who the slayer was before her, how she had died. Briefly she had the notion that maybe, if they were merely destined to die, then there should be some account of there lives. Messages to slayers to come, of the mistakes not to make.  
  
Maybe there already was.  
  
There was a noise in the trees and Trista walked calmly towards it, clearing her mind. Knowing that if her mind was not truly on the battle that she could easily make a mistake that could very well be her last.  
  
She did not speak, Trista took pride in that fact. She never spoke to the demons of the night. Amongst the evils that lurked she would be thrilled to know that they referred to her as the silent slayer.  
  
"If you have nothing of importance to say, do not speak"  
  
Another life lesson Marie-Claire had bestowed upon her.  
  
"Halt." The tree's spoke.  
  
Trista halted momentarily, then tilted her head. This man did not feel undead.  
  
"You are but a man?" Trista queried,  
  
"We are but an army," the man leered "sent to retrieve the princess".  
  
The information sunk in and Trista smiled, "that may be so, but did it occur to you that maybe the princess would not be easily retrieved?"  
  
"You are but a girl" the man laughed. With a final chuckle, Trista snapped his neck. The rest of the men where upon her, but stood no chance against her supernatural strength.  
  
It was not uncommon for people to seek out the bloodline of the royals.  
  
This was not the first army Trista had fought.  
  
Unfortunately a reputation amongst the living men would cause more trouble and interest than she could freely give, so she loaded the corpses of the men back onto their horses and told the horses to take the men back to where they had come.  
  
An anonymous message that Trista hoped would be understood.  
  
She had little time to battle the innocents she was sworn to protect.  
  
That was another ability that had developed within her; the animals she encountered seemed to understand her in a vague sort of way.  
  
Walking back to the castle she wondered if that was another slayer ability – oddly however, it seemed to feel unique to her.  
  
Unlike the other abilities she had which felt old, used and mastered. A power she was merely borrowing until the time came to pass in onto another.

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End file.
